


A Lust-Inducing Barnacle

by thecytherean



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But like... not much angst, Chloe Decker Finds Out, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Idiots in Love, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e24 A Devil of My Word, Therapy, also some hints of Linda/Maze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecytherean/pseuds/thecytherean
Summary: The first steps she took upon seeing his devil face were towards him, not away.





	1. Chapter 1

She was taking it quite _well_ , actually.

 There had been a long moment of her staring in utter disbelief, of course, but that was understandable.  He much preferred that to her cowering and screaming in terror.

 That wasn’t the detective’s way, Lucifer supposed.  Too many dead bodies, too many guns suddenly pointed in her direction.  The detective was no stranger to horror, just by career choice alone. The evils of humanity and a little blood and gore were one thing, however.  A sudden glimpse at the fires of hell through her partner’s face was quite another.

 But the first steps she took upon seeing his devil face were towards him, not away.  

 Lucifer held himself still under her scrutiny, his heart pounding in his chest.  A litany of prayers ran through his mind, but not towards his father (not ever again, if he could help it).  Instead-- and _ah_ , the irony would be hilarious if he wasn’t teetering on the edge of panic--his supplication was aimed at the small human before him.  

 Small, but anything but insignificant.

  _Please._

_Don’t be afraid._

_Don’t run away._

_Don’t leave me._

 It was a selfish request.  She could no longer deny the existence of the monster within him, now that it was quite literally staring her in the face.  He wouldn’t blame her if she left-- it was what he deserved. But he-- well, he didn’t _want_ her to.  She had chosen him before, even with all his faults and failures. It was almost too much to hope for, but… perhaps she still could.  She _shouldn’t_ , but the detective had never been one for self-preservation, anyway.  How many times had she put herself in danger to protect him? She had stood between him and Cain only moments ago-- the icicle of fear and desperation that had punched through him when she had fallen back into his arms hadn’t yet melted in his chest.

 That was before she had seen the true face of the Devil, though.  

  _You may think that that’s what you are… but I don’t see you that way._  Did she now?

 Chloe took another step towards him, and Lucifer held his breath.

 “Does it--”

 Even at just above a whisper, her voice cut through the heavy silence and startled them both.  She swallowed, cleared her throat, and tried again.

 “Does it… hurt?” she asked, gesturing towards her own face.

  _That_ was her first reaction? The detective had always been a bit of a anomaly among humans, but he felt more knocked off-kilter than usual.  

 “Just to look at, I’m afraid,” he joked halfheartedly, not sure how else to respond.  

 Chloe winced, then glanced down at his chest and gasped.  

 “Your shirt! Are those _bullet holes_? Are you bleeding?”

 All he could do was watch, dumbfounded, as she rushed over to him and, without one bit of hesitation, reached for him with trembling fingers.  Her hands pulled at his jacket and skimmed across his chest, frantically searching for a wound or blood. His lungs and limbs were frozen in shock of her utter _indifference_ at his appearance.  

 She was _touching_ him.  While he was--  

 Overwhelmed, he moved to push her hands away, but the sight of his scorched, red hands halted him.  His fingers twitched, inches away from her unmarred skin. Did she not see what he was? Was she _blind_? His head was spinning.

 “Detective,” he ground out, his tone split between plea and agony. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking of her, but his lungs were refusing to expand and his heart was hammering in his chest.

 His distress must have showed on his face, because he felt Chloe’s grip on his jacket release.

 “Oh,” she murmured.  “Right. Immortal.”

 He opened his eyes-- only then realizing that he had closed them-- and looked down at her.  She was studying him, from his hairless scalp down to his chapped, inflamed lips.

 In most cases, he revealed his true face to humans as punishment.  Watching them scream or sob in terror as they witnessed his aberration wasn’t exactly something that he enjoyed, but it came with the job (okay, fine, maybe the more monstrous side of him somewhat relished this power, especially when he was angry).  But Chloe wasn’t guilty of anything except keeping company with the Devil. Try as he might, he couldn’t find anything condemnable in that. Unwise, but not condemnable.

 Was that the reason she was so unafraid?

 He didn’t bloody _understand_!

 “Lucifer, I’m so sorry.”

 His thoughts came to a crashing halt, pooling into one into one singular question that tumbled out of his mouth.

 “What on earth for?”

 “You _told_ me.  You’ve _been_ telling me, for years.  And I just never--”

 She ducked her head and took a breath.  

 Lucifer stared at her.  She was apologizing. To _him_ .  After seeing the true monster he was.  Half of him wanted to kiss her, while the other half doubted her sanity.  His usually quick-witted mind was empty of any and all responses. He wasn’t used to apologies in the first place-- giving _or_ receiving them, unless it was being screamed at him as a last resort to avoid punishment.  He had been trying to be more generous with them himself, particularly to Chloe, because… well.  He was trying to be better in general. To be worthy of her.

  _I’ll never get there,_ he lamented.  There was no chance in Hell _or_ on Earth.  How could he even begin to earn that when she was the kind of person who greeted a monster with concern for its well-being?  He was the Lightbringer himself, creator of the sun and stars, and had never seen anything shine more brightly than she did.

 He opened his mouth--more than a bit afraid that some heartfelt, emotional muck was going to come out of it--when he was thankfully interrupted by the distant sound of sirens.  They both looked towards the entrance of the loft, then back at each other.

  _Fuck._

 “Dan must’ve called for back-up,” Chloe realized.  “Can you… can you change back? You know, to… your other... face?”  She winced again.

 Lucifer tried, he really did, but perhaps Amenadiel had been right about his theory-- murdering Cain had been quite enough to start a downward spiral into self-loathing.  But with Chloe now knowing the truth about him, the additional shame and despair made it impossible to think of himself as anything but monstrous, let alone hide the manifestation of it.  

 “It appears not,” he growled, looking away from her, humiliated.   He felt her gently touch his arm.

 … right where Cain had cut him with Maze’s blade.  He hissed and flinched away from her.

 “You _are_ hurt!” she cried. Her palm had come away stained red and wet with his blood.

 She glanced down at the bullet holes on his chest, her brow furrowed.  Lucifer clenched his jaw and remained silent. There wasn’t time to explain.  Chloe seemed to come to that realization as well, stepping away from him.

 “You need to get out of here.  And I have to figure out something to explain all of this, since we don’t have much evidence to pin--”

 She stopped, mid-step and mid-sentence, to look down at Cain’s body laying at his feet.  Her breath stuttered and she closed her eyes for a moment. Lucifer almost reached out to her, unsure of her feelings about the death of her ex-fiance (and the part he played in it), but she gave herself a hard shake and moved on.

 “-- Pierce.”  His name was a weary sigh.  She looked away from the body, confusion slowly spreading across her face.  “Are those _feathers_?”

  _Don’t,_ Lucifer begged silently.   _Don’t piece it together.  For once in your bloody life, don’t be a detective._

 She looked up at him with wide eyes.

  _Bugger._

 “Are they… are they _yours_?”

 He opened his mouth to answer, then thought better of it and closed it again.  Chloe goggled at him for a moment longer, then waved her hands in front of her as if to erase the scene from her sight.  She took a breath.

 “Can you get yourself out of here without being seen?” she forced out.

 The thought of flying made his hands tighten into fists-- it was going to _hurt_.  Nevertheless…

 “Yes,” he affirmed.  Chloe nodded.

 “Then go.”

 “Are you s--”

 “ _Go_ , Lucifer.”

 He braced himself for the pain and took off, vanishing from Chloe’s view.

 It did, indeed, hurt. 

* * *

 

It took a few hours until Lucifer’s eyes finally dimmed to black.  It took several hours more until his head was covered in dark hair again and his skin became pale and healthy.  Self-loathing still raged within him, of course, but its intensity had been diluted with anxiety.

 A day had passed, and he hadn’t heard from Chloe.  

 He didn’t want to text or call her-- she might need space, and he certainly couldn’t blame her if that was the case.  But what if it was much more than space? What if he never heard from her again? While she had handled everything far better than he had expected, perhaps that was simply due to circumstances. What if she had gone home, realized the weight of what had been revealed to her, and wanted nothing more to do with him?

 Well, then she’d be making the intelligent decision, wouldn’t she?  She didn’t need him. If she no longer _wanted_ him as a partner, as a friend, as… whatever he was to her, then he would honor her decision.  

 The memory of their kiss at Forest Clay’s mansion flared bright in his mind, like a lone firework in the night sky.

 No, it wouldn’t do any good to focus on that.  If this was truly the end of their relationship, he’d be back to his hedonistic ways soon enough.  It wasn’t like he wouldn’t enjoy himself… but it was different with Chloe. With her, he felt… lighter. Happier.

 But, of course, he was the Devil.  Happiness wasn’t exactly in the job description.

 Honestly, for such a relatively chaste kiss, it clung to his subconscious like some sort of lust-inducing barnacle.  He had been catching himself, even as they worked to bring down Pierce, glancing at her lips every so often and remembering how they felt against his.  Remembering her fingers oh-so-gently holding him in place-- not pulling him towards her, not really, but a silent gesture that seemed to ask him to stay in that moment with her, just a little longer.

 But thinking of that now, when the threat of losing her completely was all too real, was definitely not helping.  

 So he drank alone in his penthouse, slowly and painfully healing from the many wounds he’d acquired at the loft. It was almost as if the detective was around, delaying his recovery-- which just reminded him further that she wasn’t.

 Perhaps she would never be again.

 A few days later,  Lucifer stood out on his patio in his favorite silk robe, smoking a cigarette and fighting the urge to play “Moonlight Sonata” to fit his mood (a bit _too_ dramatic, even for him).  His hair was messy and unkempt. He needed a shave, too, but he had no desire to make the effort-- particularly after having to make one to hide his wings away a few hours prior (wincing as he did so-- wing injuries were notoriously sluggish to heal, and they were still quite sore).

 And why should he? He didn’t have anyone to impress.  The only person who mattered had seen the worst of him now-- there was no erasing that from her mind with some designer clothes and tailored suits.  She knew what lay beneath it all.

 Well.  She had known what lay underneath his clothing in some respects for awhile now, but that was beside the point.

 He sighed, annoyed with himself for feeling so mopey but unable to stop.  Another drink was needed, but the absence the burn of the whiskey going down his throat that only the detective’s presence allowed was more conspicuous than he could bear.

 He had taken it for granted, along with so many other things.

 He had taken _her_ for granted.

 Growling in disgust, he threw away his cigarette, stomped back inside to the bar, and grabbed a bottle off of the shelf.  He took a few large gulps from it before slamming it down on the counter.

 When heat bloomed on the back of his tongue, slid down his gullet, and settled in his gut, the rest of him froze.  He was afraid to hope.

  _Ding._

 The elevator doors slid open, and there she was-- the one that mattered.

 They stared at each other.  

 If he had to guess, her decision to visit him was an impulsive one.  She was dressed in one of her ratty, old sweatshirts with a stretched-out collar that hung off of one shoulder.  Her hair was up in a messy bun, her car keys still in her hand.

 Lucifer had never witnessed a more beautiful sight.  

  _She came back._

 “Detective,” he breathed, trying but ultimately failing at hiding his relief.

 Chloe bit her lip, then opened her mouth to say something.

 Then closed it.

 Then opened it again.

 “There’s a saying,” she began, looking up at him through her lashes.  “It’s something like, ‘better the devil you know than devil you don’t’.”  She fidgeted.

 Lucifer stared at her.

  _She came back._

 “I guess I’m saying that…” She sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead.  “God, I need a drink. What I’m saying is that I want to know. Everything.  If you’re willing to tell me.”

 His eyes widened as she slowly walked towards him, grabbing an empty glass off the bar as she approached.

“Everything?” he repeated, dumbly.  Everything was a lot. Everything included miracles, divine intervention, and vulnerability.  

 And feelings.

 And _wings_.

 Taking the bottle he had just left on the counter, the detective poured herself a generous amount of whiskey, then immediately tipped it back and drained the entire glass.  

  _But she came back._

 “Look,” she told him, as she leaned over to refill. “This is all a lot to wrap my head around.  Not just the whole devil thing, because let’s be honest, I knew _something_ was up.  I did shoot you, after all.”

 “Yes, I remember, thank you,” Lucifer cut in, his brain flickering back online (and hoping that he hid the tremor in his voice well enough).  Chloe rolled her eyes.

 “ _My point is_ … I’ve never been a religious or spiritual person.  So I’m really, _really_ trying not to fall into some sort existential crisis here.  I can’t promise that I’ll always succeed with that, and sometimes I might get overwhelmed and need time to process or whatever, but… yeah.  I want to know.”

 Lucifer studied her, his mood flipping from light to dark like a switch had been flipped within him.  She was asking him to lay everything out between them, both celestial and emotional. To pour his heart out to her about his past, including every terrible thing he’d done.  He’d have to tell her about Uriel, about Hell, about his Fall. Millennias of punishment and evil.

Fear seized up his limbs at the mere thought of it.

 Why had she bothered to come back at all, if she was that intent on learning things that would ultimately make her leave him for good?  Who could ever know all he’d ever done and want to stay with him? For such an intuitive, intelligent, lovely creature, she was really quite thick.  She wanted to know, did she? Clearly, he needed to show her what she was dealing with.

 “Do you _really_?” he asked, low and quiet, letting his pupils dissolve into flame.  “I’m the Devil, Detective. Satan, Maara, Iblis, ruler of the demons and king of hell.  I have punished souls-- tortured them-- in the darkest bowels of existence for longer than you can imagine.  You can’t argue against that, not anymore. You want to know the truth behind the monster? Do you really think you could handle it?”

 He towered over her, clenching his teeth as he fought every urge within him that wanted her to stay.  She clearly didn’t understand the implications of what she was asking of him, what she was doing. Those who came to play in the dark with the devil only came to know pain, fear, and regret.  If he could just get her to _see_ \--

 Chloe placed a firm hand on his chest, and he felt the flames within him stutter and die out.  He blinked, his eyes fading back to normal.

 “Stop,” she whispered.  “That’s not who you are to me, you know that.”

 “Detecti--”

 “Aren’t you the one who’s been saying all this time that everyone’s out to get you, that everyone’s gotten you all wrong?  So that’s all out the window now that I’ve seen your devil face? You were just, what, lying for _three years_ , while insisting that you never lie to me?  Which one is it?”

 “I--”

 “No, you know what? It doesn’t matter, because it’s bullshit either way.  Lies by omission are still _lies_ .  You’ve been giving me half-truths since the day we met, and every time I get close to the _actual_ truth, every time you realize that I’m getting closer to you, you freak out and run away. Or push me away.  Or go on some crazy bender. Or get _married_.  Enough. Are you my partner or not?”

 “Of course I am, Detective, which is why I’m trying to protect you!”

 “From what?”

 “From _ME!_ ” he roared, incensed by the unwanted emotions she was provoking within him.  She made him so bloody confused all the time, it was infuriating. His eyes were burning again-- not with hellfire, but something else.  Something that squeezed inside his ribcage and made his lungs shudder with each breath. It made him feel weak, and that, in turn, made him feel angry.

 Chloe was shaking her head.

 “No, you’re not,” she said.  “You’re not protecting me, you’re protecting yourself.   _You’re_ the one who’s scared, not me.”

 Lucifer scoffed and tried to turn away from her, but she wrapped her fingers around the placket of his shirt and held tight.  He stiffened and looked down at her.

 “And I get that, okay? You’ve been hurt.  You’ve been told for--”

 She swallowed, hard.

 “-- an eternity that you’re the villain, you were made to look that way.  I think I understand that a little better now. As much as I can, anyway.”

 “I have done evil, Detective,” he interrupted, his voice wavering.  “I have done vile, terrible things.”

 “Maybe so, but you’ve also done good things, Lucifer.  I’ve known you for three years. I know that’s practically nothing to you, but the good has always outweighed the bad. I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t.”  She huffed a laugh. “All I kept thinking about over the past few days was the time you let Trixie paint a unicorn on your face. Or when you got all geeky with Dan about those stupid action movies, or when you sang ‘Eternal Flame’ at that club.  Or how patient and sweet you are with Ella. I don’t care what you say you are, an evil monster doesn’t act like that. But you know who does? You. Lucifer Morningstar. My partner. That’s who I want to know better-- if you’ll let me.”

 He inhaled sharply.  All of his hard edges melted down as he gazed at her.  Whatever had tightened in his chest widened its grip and he suddenly realized he was holding in a sob.

 She knew.

 She knew that he was truly the devil, she knew exactly who and what he was, and she was still choosing him.  

 The fear of his father’s machinations flickered dimly in the back of his mind, but Chloe’s words kept them at bay.  She was human, miracle or not, and therefore had free will. And her free will meant that the choice she was making-- to stay by his side-- was hers and hers alone.  

 He hoped, anyway.

 Sod it, she was worth taking that risk, dad be damned.  He cleared his throat and gently covered her hand with both of his, over his heart.

 “It’s not nothing,” he told her quietly.  “The three years we’ve known each other, that is.  It’s very far from nothing. The opposite, really.”

 She smiled and stepped a bit closer to him.

 “I agree.”

 Lucifer noticed how close they were leaning towards each other and quickly stood up straight, releasing her hand from between his own.  While every part of his being screamed for him to take her in his arms and snog her senseless-- _finally_ \-- he knew he couldn’t do so until the air between them was completely clear.  She deserved the truth about him, about all of it.

 “So,” Chloe said. “You’ll be honest with me? Tell me the truth about you and your… devil… stuff? The _whole_ truth?”  

 He grinned, feeling more at ease than he had in days.  He wasn’t exactly looking forward to telling her everything, particularly the parts that involved her, but…

 She was smiling up at him, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

  _Yeah.  Sod it._

 “Nothing but, so help me Dad,” he stated, holding up his right hand.

 “Give me your _word_ , Lucifer.”

 “It’s yours, Detective.”  A bit too earnest, that. He glanced away from her and grabbed the bottle of whisky and poured some into a glass for himself.

 She rested a hand on his forearm.

 “I have some questions.  If that’s okay,” she ventured.

  _Well.  Here we go._

 “I imagined as such,” he said.  “Shall we sit?”

 He gestured to the living room.  The detective gave him a quick smile before grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the bar.  She brought it over to his couch, kicking off her shoes before settling into a corner and folding her legs beneath her.  He watched her for a moment, blinking at how comfortable she seemed. How right it felt to have her there. How relieved and surprised he was that she was staying.  

 After a moment, he joined her on the couch, settling back into the cushions.  

 “Have at it, Detective.  But please, do be gentle,” he purred.

 Ah, there was the familiar eye roll.

“Okay,” Chloe began, sitting up straighter.  “First of all, how old are you?”

"I… don’t know, actually.”  He frowned at her raised eyebrow. “ _You_ try keeping up with every calendar that's ever been invented, not to mention the temporal flux in hell.  I’ve honestly no idea. Somewhere between 5 and 10 billion, I suppose.”

 Chloe’s eyes widened considerably.  She brought the whiskey bottle up to her lips and took a swig.  

 “O-kay.” Then she tilted her head. “Temporal…?”

 “Time moves slower in hell than it does up here.”

 She nodded.  “And you were an angel.  Until you, um…”

 “Fell,” Lucifer supplied, his voice flat.

 “So God…” She inhaled sharply.  “Exists.”

 “Unfortunately.”

 “And he’s your dad.”

 “Even more unfortunate.”

 “And… he’s an asshole?”

 He nearly spit out the last bit of the whiskey he had sipped from the bottom of his glass.  And though things were clearly not okay between them, not yet, he couldn’t help but give her his brightest smile.

“The absolute _worst_ , Detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hi, and thank you very much for reading this.
> 
> This is my first foray into the Lucifer fandom and the first thing I've written in a VERY long time. I'm not completely satisfied with it, but as I'm sure most of you feel, I needed to get this out to relieve some inner turmoil as we wait for Season 4.
> 
> (If you feel like Chloe was a bit TOO calm, cool, and collected here, I have a vague plan for another part that delves way more into what she's thinking/feeling about everything.)
> 
> Comments are welcome, but please keep them constructive!
> 
> PS: I'm very new to Lucifer, as in... I just binge-watched the whole thing on Netflix within the last month. So to those of you who helped save the show last year: THANK YOU SO MUCH, SERIOUSLY.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chloe's POV!
> 
> Note: Quotes in parentheses are memories, if that's not clear.

_ “More importantly, detective, you deserve someone as good as you because… well, you’re special.  And I’m… I’m not worth it.” _

Chloe would laugh, if she could, y’know, actually breathe.

The thing was that she wasn’t special, not in the slightest. She was a divorced, single mom.  A decent detective, but generally despised by her peers. And when she wasn’t either of those things, she was a has-been actress only known for brief topless scene in a forgettable movie.

_ She _ was special? Please.

Lucifer was  _ the son of God.   _ Well,  _ a _ son of God.  __

Which meant that God existed.  There was a one, singular being that created the universe, and everything in it.  

And it-- he?-- was Lucifer’s  _ father _ .  The father that she had come to loathe from what Lucifer had told her about him and everything that she had inferred from his behavior: psychological abuse, manipulation, neglect.

_ "Don’t worry, my father’s the forgiving sort. Well, except when it comes to me.” _

That was actually God, all this time.  She had been cursing him in her head for  _ years . _

And her partner--her ridiculous, immature, sex-crazed, emotionally stunted partner-- was the ACTUAL DEVIL.

Her thoughts derailed as she gasped for air again, her lungs refusing to expand under the weight of the truth.  She pressed the back of her head against her bedroom door, allowing a few stray tears to escape from the corners of her eyes.  Tremors wracked her body as she fought off yet another panic attack.

_ “I was afraid. Afraid that you’d want me because you’d only seen certain sides of me.  That if you saw all of me, knew all of me, you’d run away.” _

The memory echoed dimly beyond the pounding in her head.  Was that what she was planning on doing? Running away? Everything in her was screaming to do just that, but the thought of being just another person who abandoned him nauseated her.  She couldn’t do that to him.

Thank g--

Well, thank SOMETHING that she hadn’t fallen apart like this in front of him.  

Chloe had always lived by one general rule, in spite of her tendency to break so many others (“Never surrender your nudity clause”, “don’t date/marry coworkers”, “don’t do anything that could potentially damage your career”) .  She had followed it as a child, getting pushed around by the neighborhood boys or bullied by the mean girls at school. She had followed it in show business, through clashes with paparazzi and dealing with dirtbag agents or casting directors.  She had followed it at the precinct, working her way up through the ranks while being generally despised and distrusted. She had even followed it with Dan. No matter how terrified she was while chasing a suspect, no matter how close to death she came, it was a consistent mantra in her head:

Never let them see you cry.

It had served her well... until Lucifer had come along and ruined her track record with one small, unexpected sentiment.

_ “What I’m trying to say is… I think he would be proud of you.”   _

She’d call it a temporary lapse of judgment, but it hadn’t exactly been a singular incident.  

But that was beside the point.

She had learned to separate her emotions from whatever needed to be done, whether it was her detective work or her parental duties.  The job always came first.

So when her brain had threatened to completely shut down as her partner stood before her with hellfire in his eyes, seared red skin, and her ex-fiance dead at his feet, she had forced herself to compartmentalize so quickly that it made her a bit light-headed.

Then again, it might’ve been the shock.  

The thin walls protecting her sanity and common sense were shoddy, at best.  It didn’t take long before a warbled apology had slipped out between the cracks.   But it was enough to allow her to prioritize: first, make sure her partner was okay, then get him away from the crime scene, and finally, come up with a feasible story about what had happened when her back-up arrived.  

After that, she was so busy giving statements, corroborating her story with Dan’s and Ella’s, and completing mountains of paperwork back at the office that she didn’t have the available capacity to think about what she’d seen.

The moment she had gotten into her car, however, the silence felt suffocating.  Her hands, gripped tightly around the steering wheel, had started to tremble. Each breath was labored, too loud in the small space of the car’s interior.

Trixie, she had repeated to herself.  Get back to Trixie.

The hug her daughter had given her when she entered their apartment had nearly made her crumble apart, but she held it together long enough to get her tucked back into bed.  

When she had finally shut her bedroom door and found herself alone, her legs had buckled underneath her.  She slid to the floor and let out a sob, and the floodgates opened.

She hadn’t moved from her spot on the bedroom floor for hours.   

But now that exhaustion was finally starting to set in, she forced herself up off the floor and into her bed, pulling the covers up over her head.  

To keep the monsters away.

_ The other side of me, it’s bad.  It’s monstrous, even.” _

As Chloe’s consciousness faded, both of Lucifer’s faces flickered through her mind.

_ "N _o_ , you’re not.  Not to me…” _

* * *

 

The morning brought some perspective.

Reality (as she knew it, at least) had been broken apart, but somehow, the world had kept turning.  The sun rose. Her daughter needed to get up and go to school. She had to make her breakfast.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Trixie asked around a mouthful of cereal.  

Chloe could only imagine how her face looked after hours of crying and too little sleep.

“I’m all right, Monkey.  I had a hard day yesterday, that’s all,” she answered.  She took a sip of coffee and was suddenly bombarded with memories of Lucifer bringing her coffee at the precinct.  He never let her pay him back, no matter how much she protested. It was always made perfectly to her liking.

Lucifer was the  _ devil _ .

She refused to fall apart again in front of her daughter, so she gritted her teeth and clutched her mug tighter.

The job comes first. The job comes first.  The job comes first.

She got Trixie on the school bus.  

Alone in her house, her mind drifted dangerously towards thoughts of omniscient beings and the fires of hell, but she distracted herself with laundry that needed to be done.  Bills that needed to paid. She’d be on suspension with pay while the situation with Marcus was investigated, but if she could just stay busy, she could hold herself together.

_ Marcus. _

Her ex-fiance was dead.  He had killed Charlotte. He was the Sinnerman.  She pushed aside the thought of Lucifer telling her that he was also immortal, because she couldn’t--

She just couldn’t.  Not yet.

Was she supposed to be mourning him? She  _ shot  _ him.  She had been prepared to kill him, in order to protect--

_ The devil. _

\-- to protect Lucifer.  Who had, in turn, protected her.

Somehow.

_ “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” _

She was able to admit now that her engagement had been a short-sighted defense mechanism made out of heartbreak, denial, and fear-- and completely centered around her partner.  In spite of everything she had done to rid herself of any and all feelings for him that extended beyond their partnership, in the end she always chose him.

Yes, Lucifer was self-destructive, impulsive, and a general pain-in-the-ass.  He had no idea how to communicate, he couldn’t handle his emotions, he ran away from intimacy, and he had been lying to her from pretty much the moment they had met.

Oh yeah, and he was the  _ actual devil _ .

But he had also saved her life, multiple times.  He’d carried her out of a burning building. He had gotten stabbed for her-- both without a second thought.  He was more courteous than any man she’d ever met, always opening doors for her and pulling out chairs. She could count on him, most of the time.  He believed in her, in her abilities and intelligence. Her daughter (and most people who met him, actually)  _ adored _ him.  For all the times he made her roll her eyes in exasperation, he also made her laugh.  She had  _ fun _ with Lucifer.  She’d thought she had forgotten how to do that before she met him.

He was a good partner-- no, a  _ great  _ one.  He still made her a better detective and she still liked working with him, even with all the drama that had been between them over the past few months.

But all of that paled in comparison to the one truth that meant more than all of his merits and inherent goodness:

She  _ cared _ about him.

He was her friend, of course, and that came with a general concern for his well-being and happiness.  She wanted to be there for him, she wanted him to trust and confide in her, and she felt like she knew who he really was, underneath all his bravado and self-loathing.

Underneath what she thought had been nothing but metaphors.

But she also felt more than that.  It wasn’t friendship or partnership that caused little lightning bolts to crackle on her skin every time he touched her.  There was nothing platonic about the swooping sensation she felt in her gut every time she looked up at him while he was invading her personal space.

She had been so frustrated and unsure about his feelings towards her.  The emotional whiplash he inflicted on a near-constant basis was exhausting, and part of the reason she had immersed herself so quickly in her relationship with Marcus.  But he’d only gotten more erratic, which made her angrier, and their relationship had suffered for it.

Then he’d kissed her, more gentle and timid than she thought he was capable of, and she thought that maybe they were finally on the same page.  

_ “I’ve been avoiding dealing with things in the present, like how I feel about you.” _

But where were they now? Where could they go from here, now that she knew what he had been hiding from her?  Her choice was simple: she could either accept that he was the devil, or she could not. Not accepting it meant that everything was over between them: friendship, partnership, and whatever else had been building between them.  Was she willing to let that happen?

That seemed… exceptionally cruel.  Perhaps the real question was whether she could live with herself if she chose to run away.  

Or maybe it was whether or not she had really known her partner at all.

In the end, she decided to take a few days to process everything.  She needed to be able to think clearly, without completely breaking down.  Surrounding herself with the normalcy of everyday life grounded her, clearing her frazzled mind to make way for contemplation.  

Ultimately, what sent her into hysterics was trying to understand what it all meant.  She didn’t know which human assumptions were true, and which weren’t. When she tried to recall things that Lucifer had said concerning his “family”, she would get thrown off by the reminder that her partner was the devil.  Still, what were the greater implications of the existence of the divine? Was everything predestined? Should she get Trixie baptized now, just in case? Was there a religion that had gotten it more accurately than another? Was she being judged by her every action and thought?

How was she to have any respect for a being, no matter how powerful or all-knowing, that treated his own son so terribly?

It was just too much.  

Three days passed before her thoughts became coherent enough to come to a few conclusions.

First, in the grand scheme of things, she had to admit that nothing had actually changed.  God, angels, demons-- they had existed long before her, and would continue to exist long after.  And sure, having undeniable proof of it was… existentially overwhelming. But it was fact, and the only choice she had was to accept it.  There was literally nothing else she could do. Preconceptions, however, would have to be tossed out completely. An open mind was necessary, because clearly things were not completely as most believers thought them to be.  But she wanted to understand. She wanted to know more.

Second, in order for her accept the truth about Lucifer, she had to trust him.  He wasn’t off the hook for deceiving her for so long, but his insistence that he never lied to her had to be taken seriously.  That left her with a lot of information to parse through and an endless amount of questions, but it also meant that every conversation they’d had about who he really was just as true and valid as ever.  Every moment that they had together was real. He had been telling her since the moment they met that he was a victim of misrepresentation and would have to, simply, believe that. But she also had to believe his warnings about his darker side.  She had to understand that Lucifer had punished souls in Hell for longer than she could comprehend. She was going to have to come to terms with the fact that he was impossibly old, immortal, and was, at one point, an angel.

It was… a lot.  But she was determined to try her best.

Which led to her final decision:

She still wanted him.  She  _ missed  _ him.

And she still, you know…

_ Wanted _ him.  

Chloe was into the Devil.

(As if a certain dream hadn’t already clued her in to that.)

Maybe it was because she had seen too many inexplicable things in his presence and some part of her psyche had known all along, but it was easier to accept the truth about him than it was to accept everything else.  Maybe it was just because he was that important to her. Maybe her feelings for him were stronger than she had realized. Whatever the reason, she ultimately chose to keep the Lord of Hell in her life.

The minute that decision dawned in her mind, which happened to be late one night when Trixie was with Dan, she grabbed her keys and drove straight to Lux.

When the elevator doors opened and she saw him standing there in his robe, his hair a mess and the stubble on his face overgrown, the first thing she felt was guilt.  It was textbook “I’m an Emotional Hot Mess” Lucifer, and it was all her fault.

She then realized that she hadn’t actually planned what she was going to say to him.  But then he said her name so reverently that it made her heart ache and, at the same time, wonder how the devil could find a mere human worthy of that sentiment.  

She poured herself a drink and summoned her courage.

It was messy at first.  There were too many feelings and fears involved, and Chloe had to repair the damage she had done by disappearing for a few days.  But she pushed through it, determined to get to the other side.

And when they did get there, she found herself with a hand over his heart, smack in the middle of another one of their “moments”.  

They were becoming more frequent.

She didn’t mind.

They spent the entire night talking.  She asked him question after question, nothing too heavy or serious, and he answered them.  There was time, now, for more substantial conversations. They could wait.

“Who do you think played you the best, in a movie?”

“I quite liked Jack Nicholson.   _ Witches of Eastwick _ .  A right misogynistic bastard, but right on the money when it comes to sexual appetite, wouldn’t you say?  Hang on, no-- George Burns! He was the best one.”

The tension that had pushed them apart while she had been with Marcus melted away.  It was the most open they’d been able to be with each other since they met and the ease between them felt warm and inviting.  Something else was building between them now, and she was more than happy to let it.

Eventually, the sky started to brighten with the dawning sun.  Lucifer had joined her on the couch, his arm stretched out across the back of it while her sock-covered toes pressed firmly against his thigh.

Before she knew it, she was blinking awake to him scooping her up into his arms.

“Put me down,” she grumbled at him, feebly kicking her legs.

“And let you rob me of a chance to get you into my bed? Not bloody likely.”

Chloe meant to protest-- really, she did.  But Lucifer’s bed was obscenely comfortable (probably because it was obscenely expensive) and she was exhausted.  So when he ever-so-gently placed her on his mattress and pulled the sheets and duvet up over her, she simply smiled and nuzzled into the pillow.

The familiar, comforting scent that surrounded her started to pull her back into sleep.

“Good night, detective.”

“Wait,” she mumbled, grabbing blindly for Lucifer’s arm.  “One more question.”

She heard him chuckle.

“What is it, then?”

“Didja miss me?”  She opened one eye and smiled at him, all teeth.  

Maybe she had drank more whiskey than she thought.

His mouth quirked, but his eyes were impossibly soft as he gazed at her.

“Yes,” he answered simply.  “I did.”

* * *

 

 

Chloe awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee.

Well, that and a sharp sense of relief that she had only managed to remove her pants as she slept.  Her bare legs were safely tucked under the duvet as she sat up and stretched. She felt… good. Better than she had in days.  Perhaps better than she’d felt in months.

“Good morning, Detective!” Lucifer called out from the kitchen.  In seconds, he was sitting down on the bed next to her and pushing a steaming mug into her hands.

“Thank you,” Chloe said, groggily, taking a sip.  She couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face at the taste.

It was perfect.

Lucifer was watching her, his eyes light and happy.  He had showered, shaved, and gotten dressed. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, his typical preference while cooking.

He looked  _ good _ .  

There were several seconds of bashful silence as they looked at each other and basked in what was clearly new-ish territory for both of them.  No more running, no more resisting, no more secrets. Chloe felt a bit like she was jumping into the deep end of a pool for the first time, not sure if she was a good enough swimmer.

There was only one way to find out.

“Do you need to leave to take care of the child?” Lucifer asked suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“No, Trixie’s with Dan.  Why?”

“Well, I wanted you to make us breakfast, of course.  Before you start bombarding me with all sorts of questions again,” he teased.  Chloe nudged him in the side with her knee.

“I can give you a break,” she told him.

“Don’t you dare! I’m rather enjoying our tête-à-tête.”

She took another sip of her coffee, looking at him thoughtfully.  

“You should’ve showed me sooner,” she told him. There was no accusation or anger behind it, just honesty.  

“Yes, well.”  He looked down at his hands.  “There’s a lot of things I should’ve done sooner, it seems.”

Chloe reached over to him.  

“Hey, it’s okay. I know you were scared. I get it.”

Lucifer snorted in self-deprecation, then peered up at her.

“You’re really not… afraid?”

She tightened her grip on his hand.  

“Of you? No.”  At his doubtful look, she continued.  “There are things that I have to come to terms with because I know the truth about you now.  Some of those things scare me.”

“Such as?”

She took a deep breath, shoving her panic down as deep as she could.  She wasn’t looking to hide anything from him, but she also didn’t want to trigger his penchant for shame and self-loathing.

“Pretty much everything about your dad scares me,” she began.  “Your whole, uh, family, really.”

Lucifer glowered.

“I would never let any of them hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not exactly that.  It’s… I don’t know how to explain it.  It makes me feel like a lobster in a tank at a seafood restaurant, I guess. Just floating there, being watched, waiting to be chosen, cooked, and eaten.”

He barked a laugh.

“My family doesn’t  _ eat _ people, Detective.”

“You know what I mean! Maybe more like a bug, then, waiting to be squashed.  Small. Defenseless. Insignificant.”

“You are none of those things.  If you were, my father wouldn’t care so much about you all.  And I wouldn’t prefer to spend my time  _ here _ rather than hell.”  He tilted his head. “Humans are… unpredictable.  Interesting, for the most part. Emotional, passionate, chock full of desire.  Some of you are, admittedly, moronic and detestable. Your continued attachments to perceived social and religious constructs will always confound me, honestly.  But there is never a dull moment.”

“So we’re what-- entertainment for you?”

“No,” Lucifer replied slowly.  “To me, you are the only beings with which I have found acceptance and some semblance of happiness.  I have found a home among humanity. That itself is not insignificant. At least to me.”

She studied him.  What she didn’t say was that his family’s capacity for cruelty was what scared her most.  Their demands for obedience. The severity of the punishments for those that refused to bend.  She knew he would only insist that he was the sole target of that behavior, as if that made it any better.  But she couldn’t fathom anyone, let alone family, being so cold and heartless to Lucifer. To cast him out to flames and darkness and leave him there, alone and broken, just for the request of free will.

“Come here,” she blurted out, surging towards him and pulling him into her arms.  As always, he first froze at the sudden contact, then relaxed, leaning his head into it.  She could feel his hands sliding across her back, embracing her.

It broke her heart to think of how long he had probably gone without being touched or held by someone that cared about him.  

When she eventually (reluctantly) pulled away, the dumbstruck look on his face made her chuckle.  “Monster”, indeed. She shook her head in fondness at him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Isn’t ‘in bed with the devil’ a saying?” she wondered with a smirk.

Lucifer grinned, his eyes glittering.

“You need to get up to speed on your devil references, Detective.  I believe it’s ‘sleeping with the devil’, and if you desire to live out that particular idiom, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

It was a harmless flirtation, as usual.  But the memory of their most recent kiss slammed into the forefront of her mind, cutting her laughter short.  With all that had happened, it seemed like such a long time ago. It had only been about a week. Chloe’s eyes flickered down to his lips, and she swallowed hard.  It had affected her more than she had realized-- or maybe she had just decided to fully give into whatever she was feeling for Lucifer when she broke things off with Marcus.  Regardless of all that had happened since then, her desire hadn’t been extinguished.

Was it out of the question to continue where they had left off?  She had asked that of him, once, after she had been poisoned. His response had been to run off to Vegas and get married.  Would he run, again, if she asked it of him now? Was it even a good idea? Maybe this whole devil thing had to be dealt with more thoroughly. She still had so many questions for him, and she still got the impression that he was walking on eggshells around her.  Would he push her away? Was it moving too fast? Was she making impulsive choices out of panic or post-trauma? Did her decision to accept all of him include the progression of… whatever it was between them?

A sigh escaped her.

It was just… their kiss had been interrupted, and everything had imploded from there.  What if they hadn’t been?

Her attention returned to the man (seriously, could she still call him that?) sitting beside her.

It had never been more apparent to her that he was the devil, because the way he was looking at her felt like he was burning her alive.  His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, focused razor-sharp on her mouth. She realized that while she had been deep in thought, her eyes hadn’t left his lips.  And maybe she had put a bit too much longing into her sigh.

Whoops.

She watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and all that her flustered mind could come up with was:

_ Oh. _

The air was pure electricity between them, and Chloe let it pull her closer to him.

“You didn’t roll your eyes,” Lucifer noted.  His voice sent goosebumps racing down her arms.  

“Nope.”

“Are you going to?”

“Mmhmm. Any minute now.”

He huffed a breath of disbelief.  Then, to her surprise (and slight disappointment), he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Chloe,” he sighed.  “There’s so much more that I have to tell you.”

“Okay,” she murmured.

“You could still change your mind.  About me.”

Her eyes snapped open.  It was too soon, then, if he still thought that.  She pulled back, looking him in the eye.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He watched her carefully, possibly looking for any sign of doubt.  Then he suddenly sat up straight and cleared his throat.

“Right. Breakfast.  What are you in the mood for, Detective?”

_ Well, I WAS in the mood for something but apparently that’s off the table, _ she grumbled to herself as Lucifer got up and strided out of the room.  She grabbed her pants off the floor and quickly shimmied back into them, then followed him.

Minutes later, he had bacon and eggs sizzling on the stovetop in the kitchen well-hidden behind his expansive bar.  He had told her that was free to wait in the living room until he was finished, but she didn’t mind keeping him company.  She sat on the opposite counter top from him, watching him cook while she drank her coffee.

Well, she was mainly watching the muscles in his back move under his shirt as he bustled around.  

_ Easy, girl. _

She  _ really _ wanted to ask him about his wings, if she was being honest.  She wasn’t sure if she was ready to see them yet, but she had so many questions about them.  Particularly since the memory of the scars on his back had been burned in her brain from the moment she saw them.

But she chose another topic.

“You’re not in some dead British guy’s body, right?”

Lucifer spluttered and whirled around.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Is that--” she gestured at his body.  “--  _ you _ or like.. a vessel or whatever?”

“I assure you, Detective, this is all me.” He smirked at her.  “What on earth made you think of that? Admiring the view, are we?”

She shrugged, purposely not denying it.

“I don’t know, demons can possess people, right? So I figured angels would be the same.”

“Demons can _ not _ possess people! As if I’d allow that.  And why would they? They can come up with their own human…” He made a spiral in the air with the spatula in his hand.  “... guise, or what-have-you, just as Maze did.”

Chloe blinked at the mention of her roommate.  That was another conversation that needed to happen, sooner rather than later.

“But what about exorcisms?” she questioned, refocusing.

“Complete nonsense,” Lucifer scoffed, turning back to the stove.  “Nothing but psychological distress and the power of suggestion. But quite an entertaining movie, I’ll ad-- OW! Bloody hell!”

He shook one of his hands out, mumbling angrily at the bacon in the pan.  Chloe was about to laugh when a thought burst into her mind.

_ Wait. _

She remembered the bullet holes in his shirt at the loft.  The bloody feathers.

“Lucifer,” she began, brow furrowed.  “You can get hurt.”

He froze, spatula suspended in mid-air.  

“But at the loft,” she continued.  “Your shirt… you’d been shot. A few times.”

He slowly turned off the burners and turned around to face her, swallowing.

“Yes,” he replied slowly.  “About that.”

Her heart stuttered at the uneasy look in his eyes.

“Do you remember our chat in your car, the night that you shot me?” he asked, carefully.  “You asked me if I could get hurt, and what would happen were I to get shot. Do you remember what I told you?”

_ “Well, I… I do feel something, but it’s not pain so much as a pressure, a nuisance.” _

Chloe nodded.  She remembered, but had dismissed the whole conversation soon after they had it because she had proven it to be untrue.

By shooting him in the leg.

“You told me there’d be no blood or wound,” she replied.  “But then I--”

 

“Then you shot me, and I bled.  Yes.” Lucifer took a deep breath.  “But I wasn’t lying to you, then. Everything I told you that night was true.”  He came over to where she still sat on the counter and gently took her hands in his.  “Do you remember my reaction afterwards?”

_ "What’s happening to me?” _

“You seemed… surprised,” she ventured, and he nodded.

“Yes, I was, very much so.  Because, you see, that had never happened before.  Until that moment, I had never known mortal pain or injury.”

Chloe blinked.

“I don’t understand.”

“Chloe,” Lucifer said, sweeping his thumb over the top of her hand.  “I can only get hurt in your presence. You make me vulnerable.”

The words hung in the air between them, hovering there as she tried to comprehend what they meant.  Memories began to flash through her mind.

_ “I want to know if you’re an angel sent to destroy me.” _

_ “I AM the Devil.  Historically invincible, until now.” _

_ “The devil gets burned by fire, could this be any more ironic?” _

“Vulnerable,” she repeated, a strange sense of dread twisting in her stomach.

“Remember when we found Carlisle and those two boys he was planning to murder?  I told you to--”

“You told me to go after the professor so that you could save them,” Chloe quavered.  “And you did. Somehow.”

“The ‘somehow’ was that you got far enough away to take my vulnerability with you. The moment that I became indestructible again, I was able to simply open the door, walk through the poisonous gas, and get the young men out.  Didn’t even break a sweat.”

Ice was steadily creeping up her spine.  Lucifer opened his mouth to continue, but must’ve felt her hands trembling, because he stopped and gave her a look of concern.

“Chloe?”

When he carried her out of the burning restaurant, he had gotten burns on his arms.

When Axara’s assistant had stabbed him, she had been standing a few feet away.

He’d been strangled, twice, and she had been nearby both times.

_ She _ had shot him.

Her breath suddenly caught in her throat.

_ Malcolm. _

“That was, er, a bit of a different circumstance,” Lucifer replied, warily.

She must’ve said the name aloud.  

She had watched him get shot.  There had been SO much blood.

“How?”

“I’m not sure I--”

“ _ How _ , Lucifer.”

He paused.  “I had to call in a favor for that one.  From Dad. Since, well, I actually died.”

_ “I thought he killed you.” _

_ “Oh, he did! I got better.” _

“You died,” she whispered.  “Because of me.”

“I think Malcolm takes the blame for that, actually.”

“And then… God brought you back?”

“After a quick chat and a visit to Hell, yes.”

Chloe couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t feel her limbs.  Her presence put Lucifer in danger.  He could die because of her. Every single time she’d seen him get hurt, it was her fault.  He’d had to make a deal with his father, whom he  _ loathed _ , to come back to life. She did that.  That was on her. The guilt and horror settled on top of her, suffocating her.

He could’ve died, at the loft.  If she had arrived just a little sooner, he would’ve become vulnerable again and one of the many bullets that had hit his chest would’ve killed him.  Every interrogation, every arrest, every chase, every stake-out they had gone on together, she was putting him at risk.

Just by being near him.

“Why?” she gasped.  “Why me? Why _ only  _ me?”

Lucifer started shaking his head, and she roughly pulled her hands out of his.

“Tell me!” she demanded, her voice rough with emotion.  

“You’re panicking, darling.  I promise I will eventually, just--”

She shoved him away and slid off the counter, headed for the doorway of the kitchen.  She had to get out of there. She had to get out of there  _ now _ .  

“Wait! You’re-- you’re a miracle, all right?”

Her steps halted immediately.

“A… what?”

“My father sent Amenadiel to bless your mother, so that she could have you.  She wouldn’t have been able to, otherwise. Dad put you in my path for some reason.  I’m not sure why, but I think that’s partly why you make me vulnerable. And why you’re immune to my powers.”

His desire mojo.  It had never worked on her.

But this?

This was--

This--

“No,” she croaked.  Reality was caving in on itself again.

“I don’t lie to you.  I’m certainly not going to start now.”

“How long have you known?”

There was a long pause, but she refused to ask twice.

“Since you were poisoned,” Lucifer answered softly.

He had known for that long, and hadn’t told her.  Somewhere deep in her mind, she was angry at him. But it was smothered by questions and emotions all whirling inside her mind, loud and confusing.

“How can you stand to be around me?” she whispered, holding her hands up to her head.  “I put you at risk. I got you killed. And now you tell me that I’m part of your father’s-- I don’t know-- plan? Game? Sabotage? Why don’t you  _ hate _ me? You  _ should  _ hate me.”  

She whirled around to face him, holding in a sob. He was wide-eyed and still, his hands clenched into fists.

“I could never hate you.  I couldn’t even leave you, and I damn well tried.  But then I realized that… you’re worth it.”

She let out a scornful laugh, and Lucifer took a step forward.  “Wait, just listen. Jimmy Barnes, remember? Way back when we first met? He shot me, right in front of you.”

The memory was hazy.

_ “I don’t want to die.” _

_ “I won’t let you.  Father will just have to wait for you.” _

There were gunshots.  She had sworn that she had actually seen Jimmy shoot him but, of course, that hadn’t made any sense.

Until now.  

“You didn’t die,” she breathed.

“No. No blood, no pain.  I didn’t become vulnerable until we had worked a few cases together and gotten to know each other better.   You see, I think your… your feelings for me have something to do with this vulnerability, too. And for that?”

He took another step forward, his eyes soft and pleading.  

“I’ll gladly take every bullet, every drop of blood, and every attempt my father makes to bend me to his will.”

Chloe closed her eyes and felt a tear slip down her cheek. It was what she had wanted for all these months: Lucifer admitting how much she meant to him, how he felt about her.  And now she wished that he was running away from her again.

But he wasn’t.

So now she would have to do it.

“I don’t want you to do that,” she sniffled.  “I don’t want to be responsible for you being hurt or killed.  I don’t  _ want _ to help your father manipulate you or control you.   _ I _ don’t want that.”

More tears escaped.

Lucifer froze.

“What are you saying?”

She took a long pause, unsure if she’d be able to say what she needed without falling apart.

“How am I supposed to be your partner, knowing this?  How am I even supposed to be around you? It’s like I’ve been created to hurt you, and I can’t, I--”

She was breaking her promise, becoming just another person in a long line of those who had abandoned him.  But she refused to be his father’s pawn.

“I’m so sorry, Lucifer.  Goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh. I'm not satisfied with this, but I have been editing and rewriting the damn thing for too long, and I'm anxious to get to the next (and last part). So... chapter 3, back to Lucifer's POV, is on it's way. Eventually.
> 
> A few things, here-- I specifically wrote this because I hadn't seen a fic in which Chloe does okay with finding out Lucifer is the devil, but freaks out about the vulnerability stuff. I kind of think that'd be a bigger deal for her, particularly since she likes to go it alone when situations could be potentially dangerous for him. She cares too much. 
> 
> Also, I wrote her a bit more emotional than she usually is, but hopefully it's clear that she IS more emotional than usual. This whole situation has thrown her for a loop.
> 
> Anyway, Chloe is WAY harder to write than Lucifer, and I hope I did her justice. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING, and an EVEN BIGGER THANK YOU for all the support and love for the first chapter. Onwards!


	3. Chapter 3

“You look like shit.”

He wasn’t even through the doorway, but Lucifer was already experiencing considerable regret over his decision to finally meet with Linda.  He had been ignoring her voicemails, uninterested in talking out his feelings when he’d much rather drink, smoke, swallow, or snort them away, thank you very much.

As the brass doorknob started to give under his clenching fingers, he had half a mind to turn right back around and go back to his penthouse.  Blind rage kept him where he stood.

Maze was sprawled out on Linda’s couch, spinning one of her blades around her fingers-- the picture of nonchalance except for a single arched eyebrow.  

Somewhere underneath his ever-increasing anger, the ache of her betrayal expanded within him.  She had chosen to side with Cain. Over  _ him _ ! After all that they had been through!

“Thank you, as always, for your charming candor, Mazikeen,” he snapped.  “Now, please enlighten me as to why I shouldn’t rip your _ traitorous, manipulative brain out of that pretty little head of yours _ .”

He could feel himself flickering between forms as he glared at his former subordinate, who swung her legs down to the floor.   Perhaps he  _ should _ send her back to hell in pieces.  It might serve as some sort of catharsis, actually do him some good.

“I’d like to see you try,” she sneered, looking him up and down.  “Look at you. All bark and no bite, now that Decker’s kicked you to the curb.” She stood up and snapped her teeth at him.

_ Right, that’s it. _

Lucifer lunged for her.

“That’s enough! I’m not having you two tear apart my office while you work out your issues.”

Linda had suddenly appeared between the two, both arms outstretched to keep them at bay. To Lucifer’s surprise, Maze immediately lowered her arms.  

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking sheepish.  

His mouth dropped open.  

“Was that an actual apology I just heard?” he asked, incredulously. “Since when are you handing those out, and more importantly, where’s mine?  Not that I’ll actually accept it, mind you, but--”

“You don’t deserve one!” Maze shouted. “Linda  _ cares _ about me.  All you care about is yourself!”

“And thank  _ Dad _ for that, since everyone who supposedly gives a toss about  _ me  _ has betrayed me, manipulated me, or abandoned me altogether!” Lucifer roared back.

“Me, me me. Wah, wah, wah.  Did you ever think that you’re to blame for that? That maybe we all got so fed up with your egotistical, self-pitying bullshit that you pushed us to that point?”

“Maze!” Linda scolded.

“I bet your vulnerability had nothing to do with Decker finally tapping out.  She was probably just tired of dealing with you. Just like me, your brothers and sisters, and that Almighty Father of yours.”

It might as well have been a physical blow to his stomach. 

There was a small, faraway voice that tried to remind him that Mazikeen was just using his insecurities against him.  He remembered her little diatribe about “tapping into those daddy issues” all too well. But it was lost in the cacophony of voices that told him that she was right, that when he wasn’t a monster he was nothing but a disappointment.  He tried to summon a comeback but nothing came to him. What was the point, anyway?

“Okay, that’s it.  Maze, out. I’m not even attempting to clear the air between you two until you both have significantly cooled off. You can come back after Lucifer leaves.  Go!”

Linda forcefully shoved the woman out of her office (surprising him further-- Mazikeen moved for no one ) and closed the door behind her.  Then she turned back around and pointed at Lucifer.

“You, sit,” she commanded.

He did.

With a frustrated huff, she sat down in the chair across from him. 

“Okay, first of all. Where the  _ hell  _ have you been?” she demanded.  “Do you know how worried I’ve been about you? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks.  Your elevator’s locked, none of your staff knew where you were. And while I’m not giving the rest of what Maze said to you any merit, you look… not… well.”

Lucifer looked down at his perfectly pressed suit and shined shoes, frowning.

“Not a fan of Tom Ford, are we? I’ll be sure to come to my next appointment in Armani.”

Linda gave him a flat look. 

“Yes, I can tell you put quite an effort into trying to look like yourself today.  But you also look like you haven’t slept in… ever.”

_ Blast this second-rate concealer. _

Unfortunately, sleep brought dreams or nightmares--neither of which he wanted.  So he either did enough LSD to keep him awake until he crashed, or he took a strong sedative to knock him out so fully that he wouldn’t remember anything he dreamt during the few hours he managed to stay unconscious.  

He shrugged.

“Have you even left the penthouse?” Linda asked him, frowning.

In all honesty, he had tried to start making his appearances at Lux again, but the attention left him feeling smothered and cold.  They all just wanted something from him-- money, sex, connections, favors. He had found that being surrounded by nothing but superficial interest was somehow worse than the consuming isolation he had felt in his penthouse.  

He was also having trouble controlling his form, his eyes or face flickering into Devil form even at the slightest annoyance.

_ Let them see,  _ he thought viciously _.  Let them knock down the door with pitchforks and flaming torches, thirsting for the blood of the monster. _

(He was showing his age.  They’d probably just give him a reality series.)

“ _ Lucifer! _ ”

He looked back up at his therapist, pulling himself out of his thoughts.  

Linda’s brow was furrowed in concern.  

Oh. Had he gone into his devil face again? Bugger. 

He cleared his throat.

“Tell me-- how did Maze find out about the Detective’s recent decision to end our partnership?” he asked, raising a pointed eyebrow.  

“The same way I did, since you won’t talk to anybody-- Chloe,” she replied.  

He tried to not react to her name, but it stabbed through him, sharp and painful.  He screwed his eyes shut.

“Right. Of course."

It was probably a good thing that Maze and the Detective were still in contact.  He wasn’t there to protect his partner anymore, so at least one supernatural being would be.  Still, it rankled him, knowing that she would rather spend time with a demon than him. 

A demon that, quite frankly, didn’t deserve her company with the way she had acted-- particularly towards her offspring.

He wondered if the spawn missed him.  

Linda got up and sat down next to him on the couch.  She carefully placed her hand over his. 

“Lucifer,” she began, gently.  “What Maze said isn’t true-- not for me, not for anyone.  It’s not even true for her, though she’d never admit it. We’ll have to have a discussion soon to start mending things between you two, but that’s not what I want to focus on right now.  What I want is to make sure that you understand why Chloe felt the need to leave you, because I don’t think you do.”

“I’d rather not--” he began, but Linda interrupted him.

“I don’t care what you’d rather, because the friend part of our relationship is completely overriding the therapist part right now, which means I don’t have to listen to you.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Chloe’s decision to end all contact with you was made out of fear,” she continued.  “You know that, right?”

Lucifer ducked his head.  Did he ever.

“Yes, well.  One could hardly blame her for fearing the devil.”

Linda smacked him in the arm.

“She’s not scared of you!  She--”

“She might as well be!” Lucifer yelled, yanking his hand away from her and standing up.  “She was horrified when I told her about my father putting her in my path, and she outright admitted that my family scared her.  She hated that I went to hell for her, just the fact that I went back alone, and she doesn’t even know all of the things I’ve done, how many souls I’ve tortured.  So tell me: how can she be unafraid of me if when she is clearly terrified of  _ everything _ that I am?”

He had started pacing the room frantically, his emotions bubbling over after weeks of hiding them under drugs and alcohol.  And that was exactly why he had avoided his sessions-- he didn’t want to feel. He wanted to detach himself from knowing that he had come so close to finding everything he had been searching for in all his years of existence, and perhaps even more, that seemingly unreachable thing that he had only felt mere tremors of when the Detective looked at him or touched him or laughed or--  

No.  He couldn’t even think it.  It would never be possible, not for him.

Linda was shaking her head.

“I swear, the two of you are just…”  She let out a noise of frustration, then continued.  “What Chloe was afraid of was hurting you. And that means something, Lucifer.”

He scoffed, but she talked right over him.

“She found out that you’re the Devil, and she stayed.  She found out that heaven and hell are real, that God is real, that her roommate is a demon, that her ex-fiance was the first murderer, that her birth was specifically granted by God to put her in your path-- all these ridiculous, overwhelming, potentially-scary-for-a-human things. And she stayed. The only one that made her truly afraid-- afraid enough to run-- was the thought of hurting you.”

Lucifer sat blinking as he took in her words.  The tiniest sliver of comprehension flickered at the back of his mind.  

_ Oh _ , he thought.

“Let that sink in for a minute,” Linda continued.  “You told me that you wanted her to choose you, right?  Well, this is her doing exactly that. She cares about you so much that she is willing to put your well-being over her happiness.  And she is not happy, Lucifer. She is miserable. She made a hasty decision out of fear and she’s learning that the price of it is you.”

There was something very small within him that latched onto her words.  He certainly didn’t want the Detective miserable, but there was something in the thought that resonated.  He had never considered that his presence in her life was equal to her presence in his. He meant something to her, of course, he knew that.  But her influence on him and his life was vast and dramatic. He had become a different devil since he’d known her. The depth of his feelings for her was formidable.

He couldn’t be that much to her in return.

Could he?

“H-how do you know that?” he asked, his mind positively reeling at the possibility.

“Because I’ve seen her in the last month, and she looks just the same as you do.  And yes, as your therapist, I should not be telling you this. But as your friend, I’m telling you that it’s time that _ you _ choose  _ her. _ ”

“What do you mean? I-- I have, I--”

“No, you haven’t.  You run away when things get serious.  You let her almost marry another man instead of simply telling her how you feel.  When you’re upset about something,  _ she _ shows up to let you know that she cares, that she’s there for you.  When you fight,  _ she’s _ the one who gives up her pride and mends things.  She’s taken all of the steps forward in your relationship, even when she found out that you’re the devil.  She has chosen you, and continues to do so in everything that she does. Now it’s your turn. No more running.”

Lucifer swallowed, hard.  She was right. Chloe deserved better.  He’d known that for awhile now. And while he’d never be the type of being that she did deserve, he had to at least try-- no,  _ fight  _ for her.

“What do I do?” he asked, his voice embarrassingly small.  

“That’s for you to decide.  But ultimately, you need to show her that your relationship with her and your feelings about her are too important to throw away.  You need to make her trust that you’re not going to run away anymore. Most importantly, you need to make her see that the risks that both of you are taking in being together are worth that reward.”

He exhaled shakily.  It was as if he was staring across a vast, heavenly battlefield again, risking everything he knew for what he knew was important and right.  The last time he’d done so, the loss had been astronomical-- quite literally--for him. But hadn’t he felt that loss already? Chloe was already out of his life, he already knew what his existence was without her.  There was nothing left to do but accept it or fight his way out of it.

He swallowed nervously before he starting nodding.

“Okay,” he told Linda, whose grin stretched wide across her face.  

“Okay.”

* * *

 

_ “You’ve reached Detective Chloe Decker.  I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message and a contact number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” _

_ Beep. _

“Detective! Hello, it’s me.  Lucifer. I hope all is well. I know that you’ve decided to… stay away, and I understand.  The problem is that I have a few things of yours here that look rather important, so I was hoping that you could swing by the penthouse at some point to pick them up?  That’d be lovely, thanks. I also thought that, things being as they are, we could perhaps have one last drink together. It’d be a shame to deny ourselves a proper send-off to a few years of a successful partnership, particularly after all we’ve been through together.  Don’t you think? No pressure, of course. Anyway, you don’t have to call me back, just a text to let me know when you’re stopping by is fine. Ta.”

* * *

 

She responded (a full day later) by text: 

“Be there Friday night after work. ONE DRINK.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, friends, the end of this fic is giving me some TRUH-BULL (a surgery and some life drama didn't help, either). 
> 
> I've ended up splitting it up, obviously-- that's why this chapter is a bit shorter. The next one will be the final one, in Chloe's POV. I have about half of it written, and I'm determined to get it up before season 4 premieres. So stay tuned, I'll get that up as soon as I can (before I get canonballed).
> 
> I love Linda, and I love Maze. And while I hadn't given much thought to it while watching, I do love the idea of Maze and Linda together as a couple, so I threw some of that in for funsies. I hope I did them justice!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Chloe had been standing in front of the elevator to Lucifer’s penthouse for seventeen minutes.  Her pointer finger hovered a few inches from the call button, unable to move.

 _This is a bad idea,_ she thought, for what must’ve been at least the seventeenth time.

It still wasn’t enough to make her leave.  The problem was never that she didn’t want to see him, after all.

It was how badly she _did_ want to that concerned her.

She looked down at her hand and frowned.  It didn’t budge.

“Look,” she finally told it. “I don’t like it either, but we owe him this.”

She blinked.  Yep, she was definitely talking to her fingers.  Apparently, she was that person now-- one “redrum” away from insanity.

“ _I_ owe him this,” she corrected with a snarl, and forcefully pressed down on the call button.  It lit up under her touch, and the hum of the machinery grew steadily louder as the car descended to the lower level.  She fidgeted while she waited, biting her lip.

One last drink.  That’s all it was.

She owed him far, far more than that, but she couldn’t--

She _couldn’t_.  

Staying as far away from him as possible was the only option, except for this one last visit.

Honestly, she shouldn’t have even given in to that much, but the guilt she felt after listening to his voicemail had almost crushed her.  He was right-- they had been partners, yes. But also friends-- more than that, even.

They had been… almosts, she supposed.

Even beyond that, actually. He’d saved her life, multiple times.  He’d…

He’d _died_ for her. And turned to the pers-- er, _being_ he hated most to keep her safe, even after that.  The thought of it made her stomach churn with a mixture of awe and horror.

She was making the right choice, but the way she had left things with him had been cruel, and he deserved better.  She couldn’t end everything between them without giving him a proper goodbye, without even thanking him. No matter how hard it was going to be.  

And, oh-- it was going to be one of the hardest things she had ever done.  Because she knew now, after the last few weeks, what her life was going to be like without him.

Lonely. Dull. Empty.

Lucifer’s influence on her had been so much greater than she had realized.  Exhaustion plagued her. Crime scenes weighed heavier on her. Ella and Dan had been a huge help with bouncing ideas around to solve cases, but it wasn’t the same.  Every day felt like an uphill battle, and nothing gave her any sense of relief.

Chloe missed him so much her body ached with it.  It even invaded her subconscious-- she’d wake up with her fingers outstretched or her arms wrapped tightly around her pillow, his voice echoing in her mind.  

It seemed that even dream Lucifer couldn’t stay.

But when temptation grabbed her and she felt the urge to call him or drive over to Lux to see him, she reminded herself:

He was safe.  He was alive. He was free from his father’s manipulations.

And if she went back to him, there was a chance he wouldn’t be.

However painful it was, an absent Lucifer was better than a hurt or dead one.  

She reminded herself of that once more as she stepped into the elevator. The doors closed behind her, and the ascent to the penthouse began.  Her heart was beating so hard that she could feel each pulse vibrating through her ribs.

One last drink.  That’s all it was.  

Her breath sounded unnaturally loud in the small space.

_Ding._

The doors slid open.  Chloe peered out at the living room, and beyond that, the balcony.  

One step forward.

Two.

Three, and she was out of the elevator and back in his home, as if the last month hadn’t happened at all.  She could walk up to the bar, pour herself a drink, and then throw herself on one of his couches while yelling some new question that she’d come up with on the drive over.  He’d emerge eventually, probably fixing his cuffs and making some innuendo that’d result in her usual eye roll. Then he’d get himself a drink and join her and they’d spend the rest of the day together, comfortable.  Happy.

But then she turned her head and the real Lucifer was there, in the doorway of his bedroom, wrenching her out her fantasy.  For a few precious seconds, she greedily soaked up the sight of him, taking in every single detail of his appearance to prepare herself for the drought she’d face after she left.

None of what she had imagined was possible anymore.  He was at risk with her around. No matter how much she missed him, no matter how badly she wanted to go back to the way things were, she had to keep him safe.  Seeing him again made the necessity to do so even stronger.

But she couldn’t deny how much she had missed him.

How much she _would_ miss him.

And then:

“Detective.”  

The familiarity of it sent a wave of warmth and affection through her, her eyes watering up almost immediately. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself against her stupid, irrational, greedy heart.

“Hi,” she replied, avoiding his stare.  She forced herself to take a step backwards, putting more distance between them as a buffer.  There was no harm in being extra careful.

Lucifer raised his hands in surrender, slowly descending the few stairs to the living room.

“It’s all right, no need to fuss.  I’ve taken precautionary measures,” he assured her.  He slowly reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out his phone, showing it to her before raising it to his mouth.

“Hello, Google. Security check, please.”

He faced the phone towards Chloe as a female voice blared out of it.

_“Okay, current security settings.  It is currently 75.4 degrees, with no detection of the following: carbon monoxide, smoke, gas, or abnormal moisture levels.  All windows and doors are currently locked, and no intruders are noted on inside or outside scanners. Other than your approved programmed appliances, there are no power surges or prolonged use of electrical outlets detected.”_

“Wonderful. Can you check the car now, please?”

_"Your vehicle is currently off and locked.  No maintenance issues are noted.”_

“Thank you, darling.”

Lucifer, looking quite pleased with himself, put his phone away and smiled expectantly.

Chloe blinked at him, thrown completely off-balance.

“Did you just call Google Assistant ‘darling’?” was all she was able to blurt out.

He grinned wider.

“No need to be jealous.  Do come in, Detective. I assure you that I’m quite safe.” He walked over to the bar without waiting for a response.  “In addition to my new state-of-the-art security system up here, I upgraded the one downstairs in the club and had one of those walk-through metal detectors installed.  Oh, and I’ve replaced the elevator brakes, then had the whole thing inspected. I can show you the paperwork, if you’d like.”

He picked up a bottle of whiskey, pausing for a moment to glance back at her.  

She hadn’t moved, first from confusion and then from increasing dismay.  

Oh, no _. Why_ was he doing this to her?

“There’s a first aid kit under the bar,” he continued. “With some bizarre-looking device that prevents choking, apparently.  And a defibrillator, of course. And different types of medicines, antidotes, epipens, what-have-you. I’ve had one put in the car, as well.”  

Chloe closed her eyes as her chest constricted.  Didn’t he understand how hard this already was?

“Don’t,” she warned him, but he seemed to not hear her, busy studying the now-full whiskey glass in his hand.

“I replaced my drinkware with shatterproof glasses.  It looks positively horrendous, but better safe than sorry, as they say,” he continued, frowning for a moment before he brightened back up.  

“Ah!  And I’ve received certifications in first aid, CPR, AED, firearm safety and disarmament--”

“Lucifer,” she cut in, weakly.  He had to stop this.

“-- various self-defense methods, officer survival training, poison information and prevention, emergen--”

“Lucifer!” A short burst of anger shot through her-- anger at herself, at Lucifer, at his stupid, all-powerful, interfering father.  It wasn’t fair.

She never should have agreed to see him again.  She should have _known_ he’d pull something like this.

He had stopped, but as he looked over at her, his expression snuffed out every bit of resentment and fury she felt. She’d seen it before, in his kitchen, right before she left.  

Despair.

She was hurting him, even though she had promised herself that she wouldn’t.  Just like his father wanted. It was the reason for her existence, after all.

“I… I understand what you’re trying to do, and I… appreciate the effort,” she told him.  “But… I can’t, Lucifer. There’s too much at risk.”

 _You,_ she thought.   _You’re at risk. And you mean too much to me._

The anguish lifted, and he tilted his head, thoughtfully.

“Actually,” he said.  “I’ve had a thought or two about that, and I’ve come to the realization that it’s absolute nonsense.”

He set down his drink and removed his jacket, hanging it over the back of one of the barstools.  Unbuttoning his cuffs, he began to roll his sleeves up.

Warning bells started to go off in her head as she watched him.  It was rare for him to mess with the “intended design” of his suits, or to risk wrinkles.

“Until very recently, you believed me to be human,” he went on.  “Your everyday, average, mortal human being.”

He paused.

“Well, not _average_. I mean, look at me.”

She was trying desperately not to.   How dare he pull the “rolled-up sleeves” thing on her!  If anyone knew the kryptonite to straight women everywhere, it was Lucifer. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

“Regardless, that means that you believed me to be vulnerable to injury, illness, and death.  Yet you still chose to keep me as a partner-- and continued to, even after I’d been strangled, drugged, kidnapped, stabbed, burned, almost blown up, and, of course, shot.”

He flashed her a knowing grin, and oh, she hated him.

“I’m not human, obviously, but I just so happen to have the same vulnerability as one in your presence.  But now, for some _absurd_ reason, it’s an unacceptable, partnership-ending offense. I just can’t make sense of it, Detective.”

He began taking slow, relaxed steps towards her.  Chloe frowned and backed away from him, berating herself for not preparing for this exact behavior from him.  She’d been too desperate for the chance to see him again to think about any possible hidden agenda he might’ve had.  

_Rookie mistake, Decker._

“Now, I don’t mind doing what I can to mitigate your concerns,” he continued smoothly.  “The security upgrades, for example. And did you know that they make bulletproof suits?  They’re made of bloody _Kevlar,_ mind you, but if sacrifices must be made so be it.”

She swallowed, nervously.

For someone with such a deep appreciation of frivolity, Lucifer was incredibly tenacious-- at least when he wanted to be.  If he wanted something, truly wanted something, he got it. No question. It wasn’t about his charm or his ability to instill desire, either. She used to think it was a mix of money, influence, and just being used to not hearing “no” most of the time.  But now she knew that wasn’t it.

He got what we wanted because he was one of the oldest and most powerful beings in the universe.  He had waged a war for his own will and freedom against God himself, lorded over Hell and every demon within it, and cut off his own wings to ensure his independence-- compared to that, everything else was cake.

And Chloe’s tiny, already-weak resolve had just become the target of billions of years of successful determination.

There was a good chance that she was fucked.

“More importantly, however,” he was saying, as she panicked internally.  “Is that your decision to avoid me was just that: a decision. A choice. And while I’m usually more than happy to respect one’s right to choose, I’m afraid that in this case, you also happen to be taking away _my_ right.   _My_ choice.  You should know by now that I’m quite opposed to being forced to do something against my will, thanks to good ol’ dad.  Which means, unfortunately, that I cannot accept this solution of yours.”

Chloe had backed herself up into his bookcase ladder, effectively trapping herself in his path.  The rungs pressed into her back as he came to stand in front of her, just beyond her personal space.  

The smirk on his face was annoyingly smug.  She scowled up at him, her temper flaring.

Devil, shmevil-- she wasn’t going down without a fight.  

“What are you talking about?” she snapped.

“I’m saying no,” Lucifer clarified.  “To your decision to end things between us.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times as he raised an eyebrow at her, amused.  

“You can’t,” she finally decided, crossing her arms.

“I can, actually,” he replied.  “For two very important reasons. The first being… ”

Apprehension flickered across his face, but he blinked it away and moved in close to her.  Chloe’s thoughts turned to static as he gently took her hands in his.

“... that _you_ are my choice.  I’ve come to realize that trying to deny that is impossible, even for me.  But, the thing is… I don’t _want_ to deny it anymore.”

Every reason that she had worked so hard to solidify in her mind began to float away like balloons released into an open sky.  At the last moment, she grabbed hold of one and held it tight.

No.

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

No matter how many safety precautions he took, the risk was too great.  It _was_ different from believing him to be human, because it’d be completely her fault if something happened to him.  Their feelings for each other could not erase that possibility, no matter how strong.

Hadn’t the strength of her feelings been the reason to leave in the first place, anyway?  It couldn’t work both ways. The saying was “if you love something, let it go”, not “if you love something, stay and possibly get it killed”.

_Wait.  Did she just…?_

No, no, no, no, no.  She definitely meant if you “like something”.  As slightly more than a friend. That’s all. Not… that other thing. Definitely not.  Ha!

“What’s the second reason?” she croaked, desperate to drown out her own thoughts.

His fingers twitched against her skin, fear blatant in his expression.

“My wings,” he answered, watching her carefully.

Chloe gaped at him.

“Your wings,” she repeated.

“You’ve nothing to truly fear as long as I have them.  Even if I die, I can just pop right back up from hell, quick as you like.”

His wings were still a strange and unknown subject to her.  Sometimes she even forgot that it was one of his… things. Part of her wanted to reject the idea completely, even while accepting that he had indeed been an angel at one point.  Lucifer, with his designer suits and perfectly sculpted everything, with big, fluffy feathers? The two didn’t mesh. So she would totally admit to a lack of understanding, but it seemed far too convenient that he could just fly back up from the dead.  From Hell.

Her skepticism must’ve showed on her face, because Lucifer frowned.

“I don’t lie to you,” he reminded her, his tone a little sharp.  

“You keep things from me,” she reminded him, just as biting. “So I think I’m entitled to be suspicious that it’d be that simple.  Besides, I thought you hated your wings. You said that your father was manipulating you through them.”

He paused.

“I don’t hate them quite as much anymore, actually,” he finally confessed.  

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, I don’t think either of us would’ve survived our encounter with Cain without them.”

Right, he had flown them to the rooftop after she had gotten shot-- she had figured that out even before she saw his devil face.  But that didn’t explain...

All of the color drained from Chloe’s face.

The bloody feathers.

_'Are they… are they yours?’_

She pulled her hands out his grasp and pushed him away from her, inhaling shakily.

“What did you do?” she demanded.  “The feathers all over the floor… what did you do?”

“Um… Cain’s henchmen got a little trigger-happy, is all.”

There had been bullet holes in his shirt, she remembered. Her eyes widened further.

“You were… shot? More than once?”

His shirt hadn’t been bloody, had it?  But her fingertips had come away red when she had touched his arm.  Were his wings attached to his arms, somehow?

Lucifer waved a hand.  “It was nothing a few days and several bottles of scotch couldn’t fix, I assure you.  No real harm done.”

A few _days_.

He was hurt, _for days_ , while she left him alone to work through something he had been honest with her about since they met.  

Chloe thought she was going to be sick.  She didn’t know whether she should run away as fast as she could or beg for his forgiveness.  She pushed her fingers into her hair, overwrought and welling up all over again.

“This is _exactly_ what I’m trying to prevent, don’t you understand?” she yelled, her voice cracking.  “You got hurt. Because of me. You had to use your wings because of me. That’s going to keep happening.  I can’t do that to you. I won’t!”

She shoved past him, her vision blurred by unshed tears.  She was such an idiot! Coming to see him, ignoring her instincts because of her ridiculous, weak, stupid, _stupid_ , STUPID heart.  And she was just going to hurt him again, by leaving.

Because that was what she was created to do.

She had to get out of there.  

“How is remotely your fault that Cain’s men shot at us?” Lucifer spluttered.  “And I don’t even know that my father gave me my wings, Amenadiel seems to think I did it to myself, but-- _Detective_!”

His panicked shout made her stop in her tracks.  She was just a few steps from the elevator, her back to him.

“Let me go,” she begged.  “Please.” A couple of tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks.  “You don’t care if you get hurt, but I do. _I do_ , and I can do something about it.  And I need you to--”

“See? You need me.”

An echo of their past, warped by the not-so-hidden heartache underneath it.

“Stop,” she pleaded.  

“How can I?  No one has ever cared about me enough to... to actually…”

He trailed off, frustration bleeding out of every word.

After a moment, he sighed.

“When I first found out about my father’s heightened involvement in your creation, I too thought that your general presence was the punishment.  That he was manipulating me through you, somehow-- that, whether through feelings or vulnerability, he’d get what he wanted out of me. I thought that he wasn’t giving you a choice in the matter, either, which explained how you could feel… anything. For me.  Because it didn’t make sense, it-- well, it still doesn’t, not really. But then there were all these moments where I came so close to losing you, whether through physical means or emotional ones. And I realized, particularly over these past several weeks, that if my father’s intention was to punish me, then surely that must be how he plans to do it: to make me lose you, one way or another, because that would cause far more pain than any mortal wound or manipulation that my father could possibly inflict.”

When he next spoke, Lucifer’s voice was much closer, right behind her.

“So if you’re truly intent on protecting me, Detective, then please. Stay.”

His hand curled gently around her elbow, then trailed a soft line down to her wrist.  He hesitated, his fingers stilling on her skin, then slid around the curve of her hand to interlock their fingers.

“Chloe. Please.”

The fight in her extinguished completely.

It was just like him to do something like this, wasn’t it? Infuriating one moment, impossibly endearing the next.  What was she supposed to do now? She had been so determined, but now she just felt confused. Overwhelmed. _Tired._

And she was gripping his hand so tightly that her fingers were going numb.

Lucifer’s choice to remain in her life in spite of… well, _everything,_ was not insignificant to her.  Neither were the things that he was finally telling her and the effort he was making to get her to change her mind.  In fact, all of it was a Very Big Deal, especially for him. And boy, did she ever want to give in to all of it. To him.

She was still afraid, though.  That couldn’t be erased completely, even with the admission that he probably knew what he was talking about way more than she did when it came to his dad and whatever divine intervention had occurred.

But if there was one constant between them, one aspect of their relationship that she had complete confidence in, it was that they were a team.  That they were _better_ as a team.  If there was any real chance that they could successfully navigate their way through the trials of both divinity and mortality, the only way it’d happen was if they did so together.

She let go and turned around, slowly.

“I… need to sit down,” she found herself saying, and then she was stumbling over to his couches on unsteady legs, plopping down heavily on the orange leather.  He carefully knelt on the floor in front of her, wearing the softest expression she’d ever seen on him.

 _This_ was the Devil.  The “Lord of Darkness”.

All she could do was chuckle, shaking her head.

“You ass,” she teased.  “Mr. ‘I’ll Never Lie to You’.  You told me that you had important stuff of mine.”

“I do!” he retorted.  “I purchased quite a few items for you while I was researching those bulletproof suits I mentioned.  Honestly, the LAPD should really upgrade their safety equipment across the board. It’s dreadfully outdated.”

“I’m not showing up to a crime scene in body armor, Lucifer.”

“Yes, well.  We’ll see about that.”

As the tension between them lightened, they stared at each other, a silent question hanging in the air.

What now?

Chloe had no idea.  She didn’t want to leave anymore, obviously.  But what about his vulnerability? What about… everything else?

“There’s more that I don’t know, isn’t there?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he admitted.  “And I promise to tell you everything.  But… not all at once, if you don’t mind.”

She nodded.  

“Okay.  We have time.”

“We do?” His eyes were bright with hope, and she couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Yeah. We do.”

She watched, mesmerized, as the brightness in his gaze gave way to something darker, more intense.  He seemed to be holding himself back, his focus drifting downwards to her lips.

_Oh._

Heat bloomed across her skin.  It probably wasn’t the best idea to be thinking about pursuing whatever it was between them, especially with no clear idea on how to handle their situation as a whole.  But the desire to pull him closer grew stronger, eclipsing everything else.

Well, not quite everything else.

“Lucifer?”

“Mmm?”

“How… _exactly_ … did you save us from Pierce’s men?”

His eyes snapped up to hers.

“I want to know,” she insisted.

He seemed to mull something over, in his head.

“I could show you,” he finally offered, his voice unsteady.  Unsure.

Chloe’s eyes widened.  Was she even prepared for that?  But she found herself nodding before she had even decided on an answer.

_No more secrets.  No more hiding._

He reached up and took her hands, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles.

“Ready?”

She nodded again.

There was a loud flapping noise and a short gust of wind, then silence.

She didn’t realize she had shut her eyes until she was opening them back up, one at a time.  Pure white feathers surrounded her on all sides, almost forming a tent around them. Lucifer was watching her, anxiety written across his face.

She understood, then.  He had covered them with his enormous, absolutely gorgeous wings and taken the full impact of the bullets-- all while mortally vulnerable.  She couldn’t begin to imagine how painful it must’ve been.

She murmured his name, struck by the lengths he had gone to save her. Letting go of his hands, she reached towards the pure white feathers.

“Can I--?”

He relaxed, unfurling his ever so slightly to spread out his primary and secondary feathers.  Then he nodded, stiffly.

Chloe gently laid her hand on his wing, glancing at him when she felt him twitch under her touch.

“Just not used to it,” he explained, his voice rough.  “Go on.”

She slid her fingers through his feathers, marvelling at how soft they felt while the hard muscles underneath conveyed nothing but strength and power.  He exhaled heavily as she touched him, hands gripping her thighs just above her knee, sending tiny electric pulses through her skin. His eyes were screwed shut, and she heard his breath hitch when she went to smooth her hand over him again.

“Are you okay?”  she asked, covering his hands with her own.

His eyes were wet when he opened them.

_Oh, Lucifer._

How many times had he called himself a monster?  How many times had he told her that he wasn’t worth it?  That she deserved better?

She reached forward, cradling his face in her hands.

“Thank you,” she whispered.  “For saving my life.”

She skimmed her thumb across his cheekbone, then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his forehead.

He shuddered, his fingers briefly tightening their hold on her legs.  His wings moved back to their natural position behind him and disappeared in a quick roll of his shoulders.

Chloe pulled back a little, her fingers still resting lightly on his jaw.  She blinked, startled, at his sudden lack of feathers, but then she felt him lean into her touch.  His hands slid a bit further up the outside of her thighs, his stomach pressing against her knees.

And, well, she had already given in on pretty much everything else, hadn’t she?

Turning about twelve different shades of red, she opened her legs and slid forward.  At the same time, she took hold of the front of his shirt and pulled until his hips were pressed flush against the front of the couch cushions, her knees bracketing him on either side.  His hands flew off of her thighs (though not before they had slid a bit higher, leaving tingling sensations in their wake) to clutch at her waist.

His eyes were wide as he looked up at her, their faces mere inches apart.

“Detective?” he very nearly squeaked.

She shook her head, smiling.

“Chloe,” he breathed, and then she was kissing him and kissing him, until they both went dizzy.

Everything was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, AND JUST UNDER THE WIRE! I had such a hard time writing this and wanted to keep editing it into the ground, but I had promised myself I'd have it up before the premiere of season 4, so here we are. Still very dialogue-heavy, but hopefully in character (though Lucifer HAD to push himself quite a bit in this last chapter), and full of fluff. I have a feeling we might need it with this season. *is scared*
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, and especially for the kudos and comments! <3


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